


hell hath frozen over.

by wr1terza



Series: arctic blood. [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft - Fandom, smp earth
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD, Death!Philza, Deities, Dream Smp, Fantasy elements, Hurt/Comfort, Lowercase, SMP Earth - Freeform, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, angel of death - Freeform, kind of, sorta - Freeform, techno and phil are simultaneously father-son and old friends and this is how
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29142267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wr1terza/pseuds/wr1terza
Summary: perhaps the only family a weapon has,is with the fluttering wings of Death.in a world where not one angel showed him warmth, techno finds life in the arctic thrall of Death.
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: arctic blood. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138919
Comments: 9
Kudos: 80





	hell hath frozen over.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beesines](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=beesines).



he has a special relationship with Death.

no matter where he goes, Death follows. even when life had only been cramped rooms packed with three other useless toddlers, Death lingered. three became two, two became one, and then came just him. disease captured every one -- except him. when they fed more and more bruised and battered children into the room, they all fell in single swoops. oh, but he tried to capture Death. he tried when the burns were forced into his cheek or bruises riddled his own legs.. he wouldn’t beg for it - no, no, he was no coward. he lingered in snow-infested corners. he slept under frozen spears and around hearts so cold they hated a child for doing nothing but surviving. he picked fight after fight and took hit after hit.

but every time, Death stole the warm breaths of all around him.

every time, he woke with glacial air in his lungs.

 _you’re waiting_ , he thought.

and when he found a frosted, frigid sword -- held together only by the freezing air -- he smiled.

he grew up. faster. quicker. _colder_. he dodged every near-Death destiny. wintry chants boomed in his ear drums. he slashed and he cut and he tore through bloody strings of fate. he staggered up the staircases of corpses. and all those who opposed him fell to the painful slowness of frostbite. they called him a prodigy. they called him a genius. the cold-hearted, heat-driven, warm-bodied knights forced every soft curve of his heart into sharp edges. they called each scar upon his face a _token_. they called him perfect. they shoved him into burning terra. they told him to wield fire. they gave him a blade forged with _fire_.

they called him “theirs”.

fools, to think, a child of Death to ever bow to a mortal king.

\-- and when his sword turned to them and they called him _a monster_.

he took on wave after wave. he orchestrated a medley of murder, a beautiful symphony of freezing _revenge_. snow cascaded on his blade as he drove it through their cold hearts. icicles sang praise after praise as he beheaded knight after noble. polar air climbed up his legs and siphoned their arctic blood into his heart.

 _Blood for the Blood God_ , they whispered. 

he stood in front of the dictator with a wolfish smile and ice in his eyes. 

and the knights, who had taught him no words nor education, shuddered.

“hell is cold,” he rasped. “and Death is timeless.”

the kingdom collapsed. but their people remained.

when he trekked out of the frostbitten castle, blood roared in his ears. 

he traveled. he drove icicles through bleeding hearts. he let piercing chill blaze through their forests. he raids their mountains. he let hail descend from the skies and unto their monarchs.

the warmth they all hoarded away from him disappeared under Death’s hand.

and when Death descended to him, he felt an indescribable softness from the feathers of his wings.

Death doesn’t leave him, after that. they conquer lands beyond their imagination. they slay creature after creature. and, on more times than one, he takes a hit meant for Death. and every time, Death flutters over him, ethereal glow stitching together the frozen remains of his soul. each time, his heart grows frosted. the arctic chill bites away the humanity. and Death -- a friend, a father, a _God_ \-- demands he never take another slash again.

 _Blood for the Blood God_ , the voices whisper regardless, and he smiles with crimson glacier eyes.

the arctic empire moves slowly, and the chill air infests the moist soil. the monarchs fall with frostbite invading their veins. the exhilaration never leaves him: the rush of sharp boreal energy, the crisp frigidness on his fingertips, and the resounding _collapse_ of every warm body.

the cold envelops him beautifully. 

but if there is one warmth he protects, its the smile underneath the green-white cover of Death, and the laughing voice of his God.

Death never treats him as a weapon. no, the winged angel even hesitated to take him under his wing. Death only sought to protect the boy -- and now he seeks nothing but to be his disciple.

he learns of an algid power reserved only for Death. he learns the time-stopping quality of ice. he learns the protective shield of frozen life. Death teaches him the softness of the snowflakes. Death teaches him the serene silence of the wind. Death gives him wings of ice and he _flies._

and they could go on forever. he has it in him. he has enough power in his ice to overthrow tyrant after tyrant, to kill mortal after mortal, to satiate the cries of Blood over and over again. 

until Death stills one night, in front of a blue bonfire, and collapses.

he rushes forward, but Death barks at him to stand back. he doesn’t. not now, not never, when the only thing his heart has left is the roaring voices of _Blood for the Blood God_ , of _Death Cannot Die_. but Death’s wings bat him away and he roars back.

“techno,” Death coughs, and he brandishes his blade because _if he must tear the wings to protect your heart, he will, he will everytime._ “i’ve been here too long.”

techno feels magma rupture his core. “i will heal you. let me _heal you_.”

“i never did give you my name, did i?” Death croaks, and with a smile, techno watches as lips form the painfully-human name.

“p... _phil_ ,” techno tries, and feels the heat rush up and capture every frozen vein in his body. the world blurs. “this doesn’t make sense. you’re _Death_ , you’re _immortal_ , you’re--”

and with a resounding crash of icicles around him, he knows.

if he had a little more time. if he had a little more aid. if phil’s heart had been a little more frigid, a little more arctic, a little more _cold_ , the searing pain of warmth wouldn’t be tearing him apart. if Death had not been molten devotion, warming love, and glowing protectiveness--

if Death had not given the immortality to him, then--

“Death stops for no one,” phil gives techno one last grin, “even Death itself.”

 _The Blood God_ , the voices cheer as he watches phil still under frostbite. _Blood for the Blood God._

and with a decimating roar, he pushes all the power he has into phil’s heart.

_Life for the Death God._

…

...

_(from above the heavens and beyond the hells, phil lingers. eras pass over him like dust in sunlight. the world flickers mortally. even in the realm of horns and halos, he is but a distant, mythical entity, residing in his corner without so much as a glance to the archangels and daemons. oh, they invite him to their ethereal “galas”. his invitation is always painfully perfect - he can practically imagine every stroke of their golden-tipped feathers. too many otherworldly hands have touched it. too many magnifying glasses have scanned every point, their feathers quivering in fear. he goes. a cruel joy twists in his stomach._

_no matter how many times these creatures incite war after war, they flinch whenever Death arrives in battered, fraying wings. a blight upon their ball of immortality._

_but its in these ethereal dances he overhears a chitter of angelic anxiety. he sends a skeletal bird soaring above the gala, hovering spiritually behind their gilded halos._

_how are so many dying? the angels gossip, and he narrows his eyes from across the hall. has Death reincarnated? must we fight him again?_

_the bird flutters its wings, and even from this distance, Death can see its nervousness._

_he closes his eyes. he can see him, clear as day._

_“...you never truly die, do you?” he murmurs. a twisted smile grows on his face. the nearby daemons flinch._

_and when he opens his eyes, they burn red._

_"this time, I will save you."_

_and when Life leaves, the crowd moves as one lung, exhaling.)_

in the bittersweet coolness of the night, magic bloom at phil's fingertips. another secret he’ll take to his immortal grave.

_\---- you have always been death. and i have given you all my life._

**Author's Note:**

> "WR1TERZA WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED"
> 
> aka:
> 
> techno is the true "blood god" aka death. philza is the god of life. however, because death is just... kinda meant to die, techno is forced to reincarnate. philza pretends to be "death" and gives him all these abilities so techno can come into being death himself. 
> 
> IF THERES A LOT OF GOOD RECEPTION, I THINK ILL MAKE THIS A FULL-FLEDGED MULTI CHAP FIC!!


End file.
